Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) by James White Page A

there isn’t he? Let him know I’m back on the payroll.”
                  Carruthers’ sudden pallor told Nick all he needed to know, making the burst of rage that followed redundant. “You’ll do no such thing! I’m running you, Nick. I’m running you! Jessop won’t see you, not after the way you were drummed out. You’re not to go in!”
                  “Just a suggestion,” Nick said softly.
                  “No. You’re my asset. This is my operation.”
                  “That because you’re running it without headquarters knowing?”
                  Carruthers flushed. “They know what they need to know.”
                  Nick nodded. “Why don’t we go in and brief Jessop together or whoever it is you report to?”
                  Carruthers leaned forward menacingly. “Now you look here, Valentine. You know how this works; the field man gets to pay agents, gets to play them, gets to keep their names off the books for security reasons. It’s all above board.”
                  “Even keeping the operation off the books?”
                  Carruthers narrowed his eyes. “You sure you told me everything you found out?”
                  Nick smiled and spread his arms. “I’m just fishing.”
                  “You can fish all you want. I’ve told you how it is.”
                  “I know how you say it is. I also know you can find me some more money if you want to.”
                  “You’re pushing your luck.”
                  “It’s the only way I know.”
                  “Okay. Full pay. Let’s hope we can clear this up quickly, before it gets too expensive for all of us. All I’ve got at this point is another dead body and more questions than answers.”
                  That makes two of us, thought Nick, but he just nodded and left.
     
    Twilight was fading into darkness by the time Nick got out of the station. He lit a cigarette and pondered his next move as he paced slowly towards home. He should try to patch things up with Clara, but he felt drained already. He couldn’t face another scene. The inevitable tears, the soft words of making up, all of it required effort he didn’t have right now. Nick suddenly realised that he wanted this over. He wanted his life back to normal, to lie in Clara’s arms relaxed. He’d been enjoying it, but he wasn’t anymore; the memories were coming back, pressing on him more closely. Not just those of the last years of the war, of silent murder administered in strange city streets, but further back, of the trenches, of the time… Nick shook his head. It did no good to remember. If only he could forget. He was tense. He didn’t want go through it all again: the uncertainty, the lies, the looking over your shoulder. That was his past. He had to finish this. He had to look to his future, and his future was with Clara, that much he knew. He didn’t care where, or how, as long as he was with her.
                  It was a dead cert that Jurgen had killed Aviv, which probably meant he knew that Nick had taken the photos; the old man would have talked. Nick felt a twinge of regret; Aviv had just been a frail old man trying to get by, now he was dead and it was probably Nick’s fault, or at least partly his fault. Nothing had felt good about this job from the start, now it was starting to feel a whole lot worse.
                  Nick steered towards the vinegar- and oil-scented odour of a fish and chip shop and picked up a portion. He munched them in the flickering streetlight outside, savouring the salty tang of the fish. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. The thought of the uneaten pie nagged at him as he walked parallel to Charlotte Street and considered his next move.
                  Lucia had Nick’s name;